


Happy Ending

by featherxquill



Category: The Shipping News
Genre: Death References, F/F, Ficlet, Grief, Lesbian Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherxquill/pseuds/featherxquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s lived too long in this world where stories have happy endings. Started to wonder where her own is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Ending

Breath mists on the windowpane. She’s lived too long in this world where stories have happy endings. Started to wonder where her own is. Can’t help but miss Irene.

Wishes she could be happy like the dog. Happy with a touch, a scratch, a chewed old ball. Can’t seem to move on through this. Mired in mud. Not like her.

Newfoundlanders don’t dwell on things. They weather storms – rain, hail, snow; gale force winds – keep moving through them. Don’t stop and there’s no time to think.

This is part of her that’s not Newfoundlander. She’s weathered those storms and survived, this is a different kind. Cancer, not drowning. Love for a woman instead of a man. Hates that horrible harsh sounding word people use to label her. Lesbian. Hates it.

Upholsters fiercely. Needle pushing through thick leather hide. Like her skin. Tough, but pierced by a pain as sharp as this.

Some days the storm drowns her.

Some days the dog licks her face and she thinks everything will be okay.

Realises it’s the lack of storms that’s making it so hard. No thrashing seas to mirror her mood. Sea was her friend all those times after he did it to her, snarling and pounding against rocks and roaring like she wanted to. Sat there and watched it and felt like she was making it do that. Sea was her paintbrush, maybe. Sea was her needle. Waves like bandages. Quiet places make the storm rage inside her til she feels like she’ll burst.

Sewing up her own wounds instead. Thick, wiry thread.

~*~

Then something surprising; Mavis bringing the mail in and fingers brushing together. Like silk or fire. A secret smile, promise of something sweeter.

Nip of whiskey after closing time. Shy kiss full of lost lovers and old regrets. Fitting together like jigsaw pieces, delicious completeness she’s missed for a long while. She’ll never forget Irene, and soft curves smoothing her rough edges, will always miss that. But Mavis is angles, all sharp and blunt and made that way by her own storms. Two weather-beaten rocks pushed together by tide.

Upholstering together. Holding her hand and helping her push needle through thick hide. Mending and making anew.

Storm rages against the windows outside. Warm breath catches in hair. Angles and edges make shapes in the sheets. Finally stopped moving. Finds strength in stillness.

Maybe she does have a happy ending.


End file.
